


Working Out The Kinks

by Vyc



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Biology, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Neck Rub, Pre-Slash, Trope Subversion/Inversion, tropefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vyc/pseuds/Vyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it comes to dealing with muscle pain, Julian and Garak find that there's really nothing like physical touch. Featuring a trope played straight, subverted, and then resolved in three acts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Trope

**Author's Note:**

> Long story short, this is me subverting my own fanfic. This was originally another one of my early attempts to pin down the characters of Garak and Bashir. I considered reworking it after reading some discussion online about problematic DS9 tropes and doing some thinking of my own, but then I decided to pull it apart instead.
> 
> This chapter features the fic as-is, trope implications and all; the next two will involve me playing around with things. That's not to say, of course, that I didn't have a lot of wicked fun with writing this, so I hope everyone enjoys this chapter as much as I did.

Changing the frequency of his lunches with Garak from a weekly to a daily basis had been, Julian reflected, one of the best decisions he had made in a very long time.

Initially, it had been for Garak's sake, not his. After that confession of Garak's, that their time together was the only thing he had to look forward to—well, it would have been cruelty to continue on as if he were still unaware. He'd been as subtle as he could about the whole thing in order to spare Garak's pride, but honestly, Garak almost certainly knew what he was doing. After all, it hardly took the full extent of his uncanny perception to work out Julian's motive.

But after a while, their lunches, which of course had always been enjoyable, had become the highlight of Julian's day, too.

". . . All I can say is, by the time Chief O'Brien is through with making me adjust his pants, it won't be just his ankles feeling the breeze—I promise you, it will be his knees," Garak finished.

Julian laughed, then grimaced at the sharp, slow-fading twinge in his left trapezius. He reached up to rub at the side of his neck, tilting his head as he did, and replied, "You already know he likes his trousers short. I don't see why this is so surprising."

He had been expecting Garak's answer to be something flippant, as usual. He was surprised, then, when it was a sharp, "Doctor, what are you doing?" His formerly relaxed expression had become very focused indeed, right on where Julian's fingertips were pulling and pinching at the taut muscles of his neck.

He blinked at him. What an odd response. "I pulled a muscle right before lunch and I didn't have time to patch myself up. It's this new biomolecular replication experiment I'm running—I'm craning my neck back and forth between the computer screen and the samples all day."

His fingers dug into a knot and he hissed out a breath. Garak's already intense gaze grew still more so. After a long pause, the other man offered slowly, "Perhaps I could help you with that." His tone was jarringly mild in contrast to the strange, slightly unsettling look he'd yet to stop giving him.

"What, with a neck rub?" Julian asked. Even when Garak was in a normal mood and not . . . whenever this was, it was best to check these things.

Garak's eyes flicked up to his, then back to his neck. "Mm. If you'd like."

A smile grew on his face and he let his hand drop to the table. "That would be lovely, Garak, thank you." Technology was wonderful, it was true, but for matters like these, there was no substitute for physical touch.

Finally, Garak held his gaze. "Not right here." He smiled. "Once everyone saw me at work, I'd be afraid they would all be lining up for a neck rub and then I'd never get the Chief's pants shortened to his liking."

Julian grinned as he very carefully rose from his seat. "You're that good, are you?"

Garak's smile grew and took on a satisfied edge as he stood along with him. He leaned across the table to murmur, "My dear doctor, I'm _very_ good. Trust me when I say I'm speaking in all honesty."

"I certainly hope you are, for a change." He glanced about. "Why don't we go to your shop? It is closest."

"A fine idea." Garak stepped around to join him on the other side of the table. "Let's be on our way."

When Julian felt a hand rest at the small of his back just long enough to guide him in the proper direction, he only barely took notice of it. Garak was a tactile man, very much so. It had been a bit startling at first, but over time, he'd grown accustomed to it. Welcomed it, even. And—missed it when it was gone, he found when that hand dropped back to its place at Garak's side. A shame. There was just something so soothing about contact with a friend.

*

Stepping into Garak's shop these days had become very similar to walking into a completely different climate. That had been another change he'd helped with. There had been no sense in Garak being cold all the time, and so he'd wheedled Chief O'Brien into adjusting the parametres on the environmental controls so that Garak could set them to something more suitable for his species.

Ever since, Garak's shop had become rather similar to a treeless rainforest at twilight, or so Julian fancied. It was a little uncomfortably warm and humid, but considering he and Garak always had their lunch on the much cooler promenade, he considered it a fair exchange.

"Sit down, Doctor." Garak crossed the shop with a long stride and whisked a chair from his worktable. "Make yourself comfortable—or, at least, as comfortable as you can."

"I can manage 'not _too_ painful' right now," Julian answered as he attempted to seat himself without moving his neck. "Anything else is up to you."

"Then I'll do my very best to have you feeling nothing less than wonderful by the time I'm finished."

Now that was worth a twinge or two, and Julian turned in his chair to send a grateful smile up at his friend. "Thank you, Garak. This really is kind of you."

"Not at all." Garak returned the expression. "It's my pleasure."

Julian faced forward and closed his eyes. A moment later, he felt Garak's first hand settle on his shoulders, finger by finger, followed by the other. It made him smile again—the last time Garak had done anything like that had been when they'd first met. That day, Julian's heart had been beating so hard, it almost seemed ready to leap from his ribcage, because the mysterious spy of DS9 had made contact with him (in more ways than one). 

And now, here they were a year later, and that dangerous spy was giving him a neck rub out of nothing more nefarious than thoughtfulness. It was funny how so much could change in such a short period of time.

Garak's hands slid upward, tracing the tight line of his trapezius. When they left the barrier of his uniform, Julian gasped and jerked away slightly ( _painfully_ ) from his touch.

Garak immediately lifted his hands away. "Is something the matter?"

"No—sorry—your hands are just a bit cold." It made sense and he should have expected as much, given they'd just spent the last hour on the promenade, but the skin-to-skin contact had been . . . startling.

"Let me go warm my hands." He could hear Garak take a step away.

"No, it's fine. It was only a bit unexpected is all."

Garak moved back into place. "If you're certain."

"I am, yes."

Only with his assent did Garak return his hands to Julian's neck. Now that he was prepared, the cool touch was actually a pleasant contrast to the heat of the shop. This time, he let out a soft sigh through his nose as Garak's fingertips fluttered up to just beneath his jaw. For a long breath, they rested there, on the precipice of true touch. Then Garak began a train of slow circles down the length of his neck.

Julian sighed out another breath that turned into a hum as Garak's thumbs pressed into the base of his neck. Of their own accord, his eyes closed again, shutting out a display of formal Bajoran suits and bringing his focus completely onto Garak's warming hands. He leaned back into his touch; Garak responded by too-slightly firming the pressure of his fingertips.

He groaned. "Oh, harder than _that_ , Garak."

Garak's hands stilled on his neck. "If that's what you would like."

"Of course. I'm not some . . . delicate. . . ."

His words drifted away with his thoughts as the other man did as requested. It was only when Garak found a particularly painful knot that he came back a bit, and he groaned again as Garak's fingertips teased out the tension from him.

"You really weren't joking when you said you were good, were you?"

He could hear the shift of Garak's clothes as he leaned in. When he spoke, just centimetres from his ear, his voice was a purr and Julian could smell the not disagreeable scent of red leaf tea on his breath. "Of course not. I don't lie all the time."

"No, just most of it," he answered, but without force. He felt as languid as the strokes of Garak's thumb on his neck, dipping below his collar and soothing him in contrast to the good burn Garak's other hand was pulling from from his steadily relaxing muscles.

His mind wanted to puzzle out why Garak's voice might sound so low, but he soon gave up that piece of curiosity to sink into the sleepy warmth of the room and Garak's incredible touch.

When Garak slid his palms from neck to clothed shoulder and left them there, his "There" was soft, still deep, and brimming with pleasure. Though he knew he should stand up now, Julian simply couldn't bring himself to do it. He felt as though he had new insight as to what it must be like for Odo in his bucket. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so blissfully _loose_.

"Thank you—" His voice was rough; he cleared his throat. "Ah, thank you, Garak. That was wonderful." He smiled, still with closed eyes. Opening them would bring him out of this peaceful little world they'd made together and he wanted to delay that loss as long as he could. "If you ever get tired of tailoring, you should really consider offering therapeutic massages instead."

Garak chuckled, an unusually rich sound that thrummed through his body. "Thank you, Doctor, but I do believe I'll reserve this particular talent just for you." He gave his shoulder a light squeeze.

"If you're certain. I'm hardly about to complain." He sighed. Time to return to reality.

He opened his eyes to the weak lighting of Garak's shop and pushed off from the chair to stand. It wasn't a particularly comfortable bit of furniture, honestly, but at the moment, he felt as though he'd merged with it.

He rolled his shoulders a little as he turned to face his friend. Garak's hands had been on him for so long that, as with his chair, separating himself from them felt odd. His skin prickled with the lack and he sighed again.

"I suppose I had best return to that experiment." It wasn't an enjoyable prospect—there was going to be an awful lot more neck-craning in his future—but at least he had some potentially interesting results to look forward to.

In the meantime. . . . His lips curved easily into a smile. "Thanks again. I feel even more like a new man than when you gave me that suit."

"Oh, there's no need to thank me." Garak returned his expression, his eyes half-lidded. "Come to me anytime you're having neck trouble. I'd be happy to lend a hand."

"I'll keep that in mind." His smile widened. "Maybe I could even return the favour someday—though I'm afraid I'm not nearly as skilled as you are at this sort of thing."

Garak took in a long breath through his nose before responding. "That's quite all right. Enthusiasm and a willingness to learn are all that are truly necessary." He leaned in, his fingers tight on the back of the chair. "I'll keep your most . . . generous offer in mind.

"Now, I believe it really would be best if you were going." Garak straightened, but remained standing in place behind the chair. "It would be a shame if your samples spoiled, now, wouldn't it?"

He made a face. "That's putting it mildly. Goodbye, Garak." He reached out to set a hand on Garak's shoulder; the other man flinched at the unexpected touch. "See you tomorrow."

"Until then."

As Julian walked out onto the promenade (wincing at its comparatively wintry coolness), he reflected that in all probability, he was going to need to make good on his offer sooner than he had expected. Garak's shoulder had been tight under his hand; even his voice had sounded strained toward the end. Hemming trousers was probably just as bad for one's neck as writing up data, really, so it wasn't surprising.

. . . And speaking of data, it was past time to let go of that lovely interlude and focus on what he had left to accomplish. He'd simply have to return to considering Garak and the state of his body later.

Now, about that aberration in Sample D-34. . . .


	2. The Subversion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turnabout is fair play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where I took a close look at what I'd written, as well as some common fandom tropes, and decided to turn everything on its head. I also took my experience as the daughter of a medical professional and put it to good use. I was very fortunate to be taught a large number of scientific names for the various parts of my body at a young age, although this probably weirded out some of the people around me. I am pretty sure I was the only kid in my Grade 1 class who would complain about being itchy by her scapula (shoulder blade), for example. 
> 
> Just as a heads-up, but after this I'll be taking a bit of a posting hiatus to get caught up on all my proofreading. I'm getting seriously bogged down, so this is the last thing you'll see from me for a little while. I may get something posted next week, but if I do, it won't be for this fandom. So yeah, I hope you enjoy this and I'll be back with something else in a couple of weeks. <3

"Hello, Garak, ready for lunch?" Julian called out, savoring the breeze his quick walk made in the very warm tailor's shop. As he moved inside, he felt as though he were almost physically pushing against the heat—had Garak found a way to make it even warmer since the last time he had been here?

He quickly picked out his friend from where he was bent over a Bajoran security officer's uniform at his worktable, and . . . ah. That was not the look of a man who was enjoying his work.

Garak arched his neck with a grimace, confirming the diagnosis. "More than. If I see one more beige uniform right now, I won't be responsible for the consequences. I'm beginning to wonder if Constable Odo is having his staff practice their knife-fighting—with their uniforms as targets."

Julian chuckled as he hopped up on the corner of Garak's desk to wait for him to shut down his sewing machine. "I doubt it. Though, knowing the Constable, he might have them using each other. . . ."

He was joking, of course—or at least, he thought he was. Sometimes it could be a little hard to tell with Odo.

"Thereby making a tremendous amount of work for both of us." Garak let out a sigh and sat back in his chair for a moment before pushing himself out of it with far less grace and far more heft than Julian was used to seeing from him. That hadn't been a very comfortable sound he'd made, either.

"Garak? Are you all right?"

Garak took in a long breath through his nose. "Quite fine, Doctor. A little stiff from hunching over these uniforms, but it's nothing a little time won't cure."

Julian had already been leaning in. Now he slid off the desk to stand in front of Garak. "You look more than 'a little stiff' to me—how long have you been at this?"

"Only since the morning." Garak's eyes flicked left and right, but short of going over the desk or retreating entirely, there was no escape.

"And before that?" he pressed.

"A couple of days, I believe. Time does tend to run together after a while."

Julian shook his head. "You need to look after your body better. It won't last forever, you know."

"Thank you for that wise insight," Garak said, and oh, the sarcasm was going full force today. "Now why don't we adjourn to the replimat, where you can share more of your counsel with me?"

Julian stood firm. After knowing Garak for as long as he had, it took more than a few prickly remarks to make him give up. "Of course. But first, I thought you might appreciate a shoulder rub to get rid of some of that tension."

Garak went still. It was an impressive sight—most humanoids could pull off "unmoving," but not the way Cardassians could. Garak had this way of holding himself that, in conjunction with his comparatively lower rate of blinking, gave the impression he'd never been capable of movement in the first place. Even when he spoke, slowly and with care, the illusion remained intact. "I'm . . . not so certain that's prudent."

"If you're worried about anatomical difficulties, don't be." Julian clapped a hand to his shoulder blade and watched Garak wince. And he'd said he was fine. "I'm well aware of how sensitive Cardassian neck ridges are. I promise I'll be careful."

It made him feel rather smug to see Garak blink at him—three times in a row, even—his mouth fallen just slightly open. ". . . You're aware of that?"

"Of course." He smiled. "Garak, I'm your doctor. I wouldn't be a very good one if I didn't know the basic facts of your biology."

"Quite . . . so." Garak took in a breath, blinked once more, then said, "Well, if you're entirely sure—"

"I am."

"—then I suppose it would only be fair of me to allow you to return the favour."

Gingerly, Garak sank back into his seat again. Julian came to stand behind him and let his hands drape over Garak's shoulders. He then called to mind charts of muscle groups to help him evaluate where to begin. He didn't want to waste time and thereby use up all their lunch break on this, no matter how much Garak needed it. Eating was rather a necessity as well.

Hmm. . . . Garak was right-handed, so he would be doing most of the reaching with his sewing machine on that side. Presumably, that was where he needed to focus. Taking into account the thicker skin Cardassians had. . . .

As a test, he squeezed around the ridge partially located above Garak's trapezius in a sort of pincer grasp, looking to avoid the main ridge itself—and heard him take in a sharp breath.

"All right there?" he asked, reducing the pressure.

He couldn't see Garak's face, but he could hear the delicacy in the other man's voice as he answered, "I find I'm a little . . . tender in that area."

"Very well, then. I'll move on," he said easily and slipped his hands down to Garak's upper back. "Lean forward a bit?"

Garak did so, folding his arms to rest them against the table, and as he did, Julian couldn't help but smile. In the years he'd been DS9's Chief Medical Officer, he'd dealt with sexual models ranging from the familiar Human to budding and beyond. If that area was "tender," he'd simply avoid it. He was a medical professional; he should be able to administer treatment without making Garak uncomfortable. If not, he'd stop. He'd pay attention and be brisk and hopefully bring his friend real relief from that pain of his.

Locating the line of Garak's scapula wasn't difficult, even through his thick clothes. Julian pressed his thumbs next to it, adding somewhat more strength than usual to compensate for the protective macroscales that fanned out from his spine.

"How's that?"

"A little harder, if you could."

He complied and received a soft groan in response: the sound of tension being released and pain going right along with it. He pressed harder still and could feel the bunch of Garak's muscle skitter away from his touch. Time to chase that down and work it out.

It was actually rather satisfying, the physicality of the work. He'd even call it pleasant. There was something simple and rewarding about locating all the knots in Garak's muscles—and there were many; bad job, Garak—then easing them into suppleness. He worked around his neck ridges with care but without being tentative about it, and as time passed, Garak actually forgot himself enough to lower his head onto his arms.

"You have very strong hands," Garak mumbled at one point, his voice drowsy, low, a little rough. It was an unfamiliar sound, but . . . nice to listen to.

"They're not _too_ strong, are they?" he checked. It was harder to measure out his strength on Garak; Cardassians were famous for being tough to hurt.

"Not at all. They're perfect," Garak answered, then made an odd sort of sound. Funny—he hadn't been working on any knots at that time. Had Garak pulled something on top of all of the tension twisting up his back?

He pressed his fingertips delicately against the back of Garak's neck, taking special care since he was getting close to his left ridge. When he received no further reaction, he picked up where he had left off. It must have been something else, then.

As he worked, he couldn't stop himself from a light brush or two of his fingertips against the scales at the back of Garak's neck, taking in their unexpected smoothness and stiff edges. He'd been curious about them almost since the two of them had met. Maybe it was a little unfair, taking advantage of the moment to satisfy himself, but Garak didn't seem to mind. He shivered a little once, probably surprised at the change in contact, but made no comment.

"We used to do this at Starfleet Medical," he remarked after a bit. "One of our professors spent a class or two teaching us the basics of how not to make things worse, more or less. Then she let us practice on each other in a long chain at the start of every Friday morning class, provided we were willing. Most of the Vulcans and a few of us Humans weren't, but I enjoyed it. It was just the thing after a long week." He smiled in remembered pride. "I was a popular partner, actually."

"So I would believe," Garak said, then added a little louder: "You certainly seem to know what you're doing."

Julian's smile just about doubled in size. Simple compliments from Garak were rare—almost as rare as ones from the Chief. That made them something to be treasured. "Thank you, Garak."

"No, thank _you_. I feel quite. . . ." He took in a breath, let it out in a sigh. "Quite refreshed."

"Good," he said, the fondness in his voice plain even to him. There really was nothing like setting a friend to rights. "I've just about done all I can do, actually."

Just a little more here, and. . . . He let his fingertips rest on the back of his neck again, just at the base of his skull. "I can try working at the muscles located below your ridges, but if not, then I'd say I'm finished here."

Garak hesitated for a long moment. When he answered, he sounded regretful. "I'm afraid that under the circumstances, it wouldn't be wise. But thank you, Doctor—you've given me a great deal of . . . relief."

"I'm just glad I could help." It was a shame he couldn't do anything about the muscles located beneath and supporting Garak's ridges, but he was hardly about to _molest_ his friend when Garak could pop down to the clinic later for a little hands-free treatment.

He gave Garak's upper arm a pat. "Now let's go see about that lunch. I finished the book you loaned me and I've been looking forward to discussing it with you."

"Ah, I'll be along presently," Garak said quickly, his head still pillowed on his arms. "I find myself needing a moment or two to—recover."

Julian chuckled. "I know exactly what you mean. Massages always send me right to sleep—that was always the downside to having them before class. Take your time. I'll be waiting at our usual spot at the replimat."

"Thank you. I'll try not to keep you waiting too terribly long."

. . . It was the strangest thing. Just before he moved away from the back of Garak's chair, he was struck with the urge to run a hand over Garak's fine hair, to smooth it down for him. He didn't, of course—Garak would have all kinds of things to say if he gave into impulse, he felt very sure. He supposed the satisfaction of one piece of curiosity, concerning Garak's neck scales, had simply sparked another.

Whatever the reason, the thought was soon lost as he exited Garak's shop and left his friend behind. Now it was time to consider whether he wanted to discuss the plot of Garak's book chronologically, thematically, or by what had interested him the most. The question took up all his attention until Garak joined him and they settled into their very comfortable routine.


	3. The Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communication occurs at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've...kind of had this chapter written since something like last June--I've just had a lot of projects that have continually shoved this down the queue. But considering a lot of you seem to like this one a great deal (to my delight and bemusement), I figure it's probably time to put all of you out of your misery.
> 
> Thank you for your patience. <3

There was no better indication of how full, sleepy, and perfectly content he was, Julian decided, than the fact that Garak's Cardassian couch actually felt _comfortable_. It seemed there really was such a thing as miracles.

This miracle had its origins in the previous week, at one of Commander Sisko's staff parties. Julian had been watching him cook, fascinated as usual, and at one point had commented that he'd never cooked a meal in his life. It wasn't anything unusual, given he'd spent his whole life with a replicator every hundred metres or so, but the Commander had reacted with incredulity spiced with just a hint of pity and had offered on the spot to teach him how to cook. Julian had been caught off guard, but, never being one to turn down an interesting new experience, had agreed—on the condition that beets were not to be involved.

Two days later, he'd had his first cooking lesson and had produced a surprisingly passable chicken stirfry. It was surprising to Commander Sisko as well, judging from the look on his face after he'd taken his first bite and the genuine enthusiasm of the compliments that came after. That had left Julian as proud as if he'd discovered a cure for a rare disease. (Well, almost.)

He'd left Commander Sisko mulling over the possibility of starting a cooking class. Later that week, he'd tried again, and while the results weren't as good as when he'd had supervision, they had still been very edible. 

After that, he'd been so thrilled, he'd needed to share the discovery of his new talent. Unfortunately, Chief O'Brien had flat-out refused—his lack of trust was a little insulting, honestly. After a bit, though, Julian managed to persuade Garak to join him instead. It turned out Garak knew how to cook as well, and before he knew it, his dinner invitation had turned into a sort of two-man potluck.

(He'd dug up an old recipe for brownies in Starfleet's archives the day of the dinner, knowing Garak had a large sweet tooth. He'd wanted to surprise him and he'd spent ages on the dessert, but after one taste he'd reclaimed the entire batch. That would have been entirely the wrong kind of surprise.)

"Careful, Doctor." Garak's low, amused voice slipped into his drifting thoughts. "You look as though you're about to fall asleep on my couch."

Julian blinked open his eyes and smiled at Garak, who was watching him from his chair. Was it just him or did his friend actually look fond? "I _feel_ as though I'm about to fall asleep on your couch. I have no idea how I'm going to move when it's time to go."

His full stomach wasn't the only thing making him lethargic. He'd asked the Chief to tinker with the environmental controls in Garak's quarters, too, which he had. Now, the dim lighting was making his body think it was bedtime and the heat of the room had settled into his bones.

Really, it should have seemed a little odd, how comfortable he was in Garak's quarters—after all, this was his first time here in a non-medical capacity. He supposed the way he was always simultaneously relaxed and alert in Garak's company had simply transferred itself to the man's living space, even if the environment had taken care of the "alert" end of things.

Garak hummed. "I hope you aren't in a hurry to depart."

"Not unless you'd like me gone."

"Not at all. Stay as long as you like."

He chuckled. "Well, I assume you'd like to go to bed sometime this evening."

Garak didn't respond, which struck him as being a bit odd: after all, getting the last word was one of his friend's greatest pleasures in life. Being so sleepy, however, he didn't spend too much time wondering at his silence, and it was only with vague curiosity that he watched Garak rise from his chair and step around the couch. 

A moment later, he felt comfortably cool hands settle on the bare skin of his shoulders and he shivered. That evening, he was wearing a top Garak had made for him—lately, his friend had taken to putting together the occasional extra piece on top of the commissions Julian ordered for his holosuite games. It was really very generous of him, and the least Julian could do was wear the gifts (even if the neckline was rather wider than his usual). Garak had seemed pleased to see him in one of his creations when he had arrived for supper, and that had pleased Julian in turn.

Even more pleasant was the way Garak's hands had begun to move on his shoulders with strong and sure movements, pulling from him the residual tension of his previous day in the infirmary.

He groaned softly. "Garak, if your plan is to ensure I really do fall asleep here, I can tell you it's succeeding already."

"Mm . . . not quite."

Julian's eyes had fallen closed and he'd started to droop. But before he could sink into slumber, at the crook of his neck, he felt the deliberate press of a kiss.

He jerked upright so fast he nearly cracked his head against his friend's. "Garak, what—?"

There probably should have been more of a question than that, but Julian was boggling too hard to piece one together. Had that . . . really just happened?

Evidently it had, because the first kiss was followed by another placed farther up his neck, one he felt straight down his spine.

"I'm only clarifying my intent. It seems to have gotten lost in translation." Another kiss a little higher still as Garak continued to work at his shoulders. It completely failed to occur to Julian to tell him to stop. "I had been under the impression that massages were nearly as much of a seduction to Humans as they are to Cardassians, but apparently I was mistaken."

The next kiss was placed behind his ear. The sound Julian made was embarrassingly needy, and that was what broke him out of the moment. He leaned forward and twisted around; Garak let him pull away and brought his hands to rest neatly on the back of the couch.

Once he was facing Garak, however, he found himself at a loss. He bought some time by standing so he wouldn't get a crick in his neck staring up at Garak, and no, he still had no idea what to say.

He simply had never thought of Garak in terms of anything other than a very good friend. He knew Garak was an attractive man, had known for ages, but—he wasn't attractive in the usual definition of the word. He was the sort of person who caught and held your attention, the sort of person who was hard to look away from because they were just so fascinating. It was the way Garak was. It didn't have anything to do with Julian being attracted to him in the standard sense of the word.

. . . That was something he was suddenly much less sure about.

"Forgive me, Doctor, if I crossed a line just now. I promise you—" Garak began, and Julian wasn't having any of that, wasn't letting him close himself off or feel regret when his own feelings about what had just happened were anything but solid.

"There's nothing to forgive," Julian interrupted. (He had to get around this damned couch—he was probably making Garak think he was hiding from him.) "I was only a bit, um, startled. You weren't wrong about the meaning of massages. They simply can mean a . . . number of things to a Human."

"So I guessed from your story about massage chains in Starfleet." Garak widened his eyes. "Unless, of course, you learn some very different lessons there than most people would expect."

Julian laughed. "I'm afraid not." 

It was good to share a joke with Garak; it put him significantly more at his ease. The question remained, though: What should he do? And what did he want to do? This was only the second time he'd been interested in a man and he wasn't even certain he wanted to act on the option Garak had suddenly provided him. Did he really want to add another dimension to their friendship? It wasn't the sort of decision he could make on the spot, and nor should he. They both deserved better.

He made certain to meet Garak's eyes when he spoke. "I'm going to need some time before I give you an answer about—well, this. It's not something I've really thought about."

Knowing Garak as well as he did, he was able to catch the flick of disappointment that touched his features and slipped into his body language before the other man made it all disappear. The sight left him feeling mildly guilty, but this really was the best course of action. He was certain Garak understood.

"Of course. Take as much time as you need." A half-smile. "I won't be going anywhere."

That expression was hard to look at, but Julian didn't let his eyes slip away. Instead, he made sure his own smile was a better one. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

Now would be a good time to leave. It was a natural place to part, without too much awkwardness. But he just couldn't stop looking at Garak, his startlingly blue eyes, the faint residual smile that never did leave his face, the way his lower lip only just didn't match up with the upper. It was Garak being attractive-but-not-attractive all over again, except . . . now, he realised, both senses of the word applied.

He should leave. He didn't want to make things more difficult for either of them. He wanted to be able to consider the situation with a clear head.

He took two steps forward and kissed Garak.

He'd intended it to be brief, a goodbye gesture. But the texture of Garak's lips beneath his was completely different from anyone else he had kissed, dry and unusually smooth, and when his hand came up on its own and found Garak's hair, "brief" became altogether impossible.

It was Garak who ended the kiss, by setting both hands on his shoulders and easing him back. Julian was so lost to sensation and the need to really _know_ the differences of their mouths that he unconsciously pressed forward again, seeking that lost contact.

Garak held firm. "I think it would be best if you went back to your quarters, Doctor. Otherwise I might find it difficult to give you the time you need."

Julian raised his gaze from Garak's mouth, and oh, if he'd thought Garak's eyes had been compelling before. . . .

He swallowed past his dry mouth and tried a chuckle. "Yes, I . . . think that would be a good idea. I'll just, ah, go now, then." His lips pulled into an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

"Oh, there's no need to apologise." The hands on his shoulders turned into an arm as Garak guided him to the door. "But I doubt this is what you meant by 'needing time to think.'"

"It isn't, no, not really." He paused in the doorway. This probably wasn't the best of ideas, but: "See you at lunch tomorrow?"

The smile Garak gave him made the jumbled, humiliating mess he was going to be worth it already. "I wouldn't miss it for any world."

Julian really did leave then, a muddled but happy man. He doubted he was going to be getting much rest tonight with all the pros and cons and potential consequences he was going to be weighing before lunch tomorrow—but at the same time, he couldn't help thinking he'd already found his answer.


End file.
